The Outpost
by McSlendy
Summary: When Hiccup and friends are sent to supply a separated Hooligan outpost, they have no idea what's in store for them... Set after the events of HTTYD. And yes, I don't own HTTYD. DISCONTINUED.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer:_

_I do not own anyone or anything associated with HTTYD.  
>I'm just writing this down for my personal entertainment as well as for others.<em>

* * *

><p>It was a very rough winter day in Berk.<p>

The winds were ferocious, and the snow was falling down on the villagers and dragons hard. This year's winter in the Hairy Hooligan village was colder and rougher than usual, and worse, much stronger. Several houses got in during the first few days of winter, the many dragons of Berk made themselves comfortable in the enormous warm caves which dotted the village's nearby snowy outskirts, and nobody sane enough were on the streets walking there to and fro doing whatever they needed to do because of the unbearable cold.

It was during this time of the year where most people got sick and got tended to by their family members, who all obviously wanted to do something to fight off the encroaching boredom that plagued the trapped, annoyed and sickly Hooligans in their houses.

It was also during this time of the year where even the chief of the village, Stoick 'the Vast' Haddock, was reluctant to let anyone do some specific tasks that also included going out into the harsh winter cold and getting frostbite or colds at the end of the task.

Said chief was in the Mead Hall - the great and big dining hall of the Hairy Hooligan Vikings - pacing near his throne-like chair as he brooded what to do with a serious matter that recently troubled him. Earlier that day, a small Hooligan supplier party had reported to Stoick that everything was all in good condition, except for one of their outlying outposts which was cut-off from their normal supplying route because the sea around those parts had completely frozen up, making it extremely difficult to get there by boat or on foot.

The supplier party also mentioned that they were unable to risk sending out a dragon rider to supply the outpost because during that point the winds had gotten stronger, almost too strong even for their supply boat to handle. Even their own dragon's wings almost snapped from the viciousness the wind. So they sailed straight back to the main village and reported their findings to their chief and as for the rest of the events that happened, Stoick already knew.

The big, muscular and brunette man could not help but brood about the matter at hand. Manpower and resources were overstretched as they were and as far as he knew, the Hooligans living in that outpost were left on their own. Although Stoick wanted to go there and help them personally, he knew he couldn't do that without endangering the people living in the main village with his absence.

So here was the Hooligan chief, sitting down while facing a horrible dilemma and still brooding as he now stared at the fire that burned from the brazier in front of his chair, unknowingly being watched by a small elderly woman who was none other than the Gothi, or Village Elder.

Although she was well old and her brittle bones were creaky, the completely unawares Stoick could not help but jump up in surprise when he felt her warm and welcoming presence right beside him. In momentary alarm, the chief grabbed his hammer and was about to bash the Village Elder to a mushy death when he instantaneously stopped at her giggle to his panic and surprise.

He instantly holstered his hammer and, ashamed, began to twiddle his big thumbs.

"My, my, Stoick. You really need to expect the unexpected." The Gothi said as she took a seat near the chief. "Or else Valhallarama would be spinning in her grave."

"Ah, forgive me Gothi, I wasn't expecting you to appear out of nowhere." The man apologized sheepishly. "By the way Gothi, _how do you do that_?"

"Perhaps I will tell you someday, Stoick." The Gothi smiled. "But, will _you_ tell me what is troubling you?"

"Ah! Well Gothi, what troubles me the most is something that I have recently been told about." Stoick said uneasily. "It all started when..."

Stoick continued on telling the Gothi what happened earlier and told her the events that concerned the separated outpost and the Hooligan supplier party several moments later. She listened in rapt attention, absorbing every bit of information the chief happened to tell her.

During this time the wind outside was howling madly and threatened to throw open the great doors that kept the hall warm twice, but the doors held fast (or frozen) to their hinges and soon the only source of natural light was shortly covered by snow, darkening the considerably vast hall and Stoick had to go about the large hall to light all the torches to see better and to keep the place warm.

Once he was done with that and once he finished talking, he waited for the Gothi to give out her valued opinion.

"A troubling matter indeed." The Gothi half-said to him and herself. "If we do not supply those unfortunate Hooligans stranded in that outpost, they will surely die."

"What's worse, all of our men here are not fit to the task of helping our people stuck there; they are either sick or unable to do so." Stoick quickly added.

A saddened, thoughtful look was on the Gothi's face and Stoick found himself desperate for her response.

"What about the younger Hooligans?" The Gothi inquired solemnly, inclining her head as she asked.

"I'm afraid that most of them aren't up to the task, either. And for the very few who are, they wouldn't want to go out in this kind of weather." Stoick replied quietly.

A sigh escaped from the Gothi's mouth. She shook her head slowly.

"But they must. Otherwise, our people there are good as dead."

"I know. But who can I send?"

"You already know who they are, Stoick."

"Y-You don't mean..."

"Yes, Stoick. I mean them. We have no other choice."

And from that point onwards, Stoick knew that his future decision was going to hurt him more than it was going to hurt his son and his friends.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_Well, here you go guys. A HTTYD fanfic. Hurrah. __By the way, I'm being honest here: I'm not sociable. Plus, I only upload more stories when I feel like it. __Reviews and the like are very much appreciated. Thank you, for reading this fanfic.__Oh yeah, this is the prologue. __Expect to read more soon. Or later._

_Signing out._


	2. Preparations  I

_Disclaimer:_

_I do not own anyone or anything associated with HTTYD.  
>I'm just writing this down for my personal entertainment as well as for others.<em>

* * *

><p><em>"You have got to be kidding me!" <em>

Snotlout Jorgenson, finally fully awake, muttered in disbelief as his father, Spitelout Jorgenson, literally dragged him to the Mead Hall as per orders from Stoick. The duo were traversing the dense snow to the Hall, with the former now actively struggling against his father's vice grip on his wrist, and the latter trudging onwards easily as if he hadn't been affected by the weather or was keeping his son from running away back to the warmth of their home.

"I am not kidding you, son." Spitelout sternly declared to his near-freezing son, his hold on his son immoveable.

"But Daaaaaaaad, you could've at least given me a head's up! I was half-asleep, you know!" Snotlout half-retaliated, half-complained and shivered to his father, while trying to pull out his hand.

"There was no time. Stoick wanted you to be at the Hall as soon as possible." Spitelout replied nonchalantly, then shrugged. "He didn't specify why, though. Which is odd, considering it involves you."

"_Wait, really?" _

Snotlout even stopped freezing and struggling out of his father's vice grip on him at the thought of being needed for something important by the chief. The black-haired teen grinned a bit, and Spitelout found himself looking at a younger, idiotic version of himself as they abruptly stopped. While the snow raged down and the winds howled at them, the Jorgensons seemed to have forgotten about their hazardous environment for the moment.

"Apparently, yes." Spitelout smirked at Snotlout, but inwardly he felt worried that his son was summoned for duty.

It wasn't like Stoick to keep details from his own battle-brother, when Spitelout asked Stoick why and what he needed his son for. But the older Jorgenson shook those thoughts away and turned to move as he recalled Stoick's words. Still, he had his doubts about the whole thing, and although Spitelout wasn't the best of fathers, he still cared for his son in his own way. If something was to happen to Snotlout, he'd be sure as Hel he'd go ballistic.

"I wonder what it's about." Snotlout wondered to himself aloud excitedly, his father releasing his hold on him.

Spitelout, however, did not wait for him and marched on.

_"You'll know when you get there without becoming a human icicle."_

By the time Snotlout took in those words, Spitelout was already half-way to the Mead Hall.

"_HEY!_ Wait up, Dad!" An alarmed Snotlout called out to the form of his father as he ran after him.

* * *

><p>Whatever Snotlout had in mind, it was slowly slipping away when he realized that he still had to go out in a horrible weather like this. With who, where off to, and why he was selected for the mission were the only questions that popped up in the black-haired Viking teen's head as he ran up the slippery stone steps miraculously without tripping and breaking his neck. The teen barely saw up to see twenty-five feet away from him as he did so, because of the thick winter fog and the insane amount of falling snow; plus, the winds made it even harder for him to see.<p>

Not that it didn't matter to him for now, as he entered after his waiting father the warm and comfortable confines of the Mead Hall - shutting the great doors close behind them together - then went their seperate ways.

The first thing Snotlout ever saw as he finished looking around was one of his friends, Fishlegs Ingerman, sitting alone at a table reading a book not too far from where he was standing. A big chubby blond teen, who happened to be very intelligible about dragons and also oddly obsessed with numbers, Fishlegs was invaluable to the Hairy Hooligan tribe for his very accurate analysis of various dragons which often pointed out their many strengths and weaknesses. Snotlout was secretly glad to see him, although he wondered if he would accompany him and the possible other Hooligans for Stoick's summons.

Deciding to find out for himself, he approached and tapped him lightly on the back.

"Oh! Hello, Snot'." Fishlegs greeted his friend as he turned around, closing his book but not before bookmarking it.

"Hey, Fish'." Snotlout casually replied as he took a seat on the bench opposite of Fishlegs.

"What brought you here?" The blond asked curiously while he grabbed his book and stuffed it in his pocket.

"The chief's summons. I think it's about a mission or something really important." The Jorgenson said proudly.

"Really?" Fishlegs said, grinning widely in surprise. "I was summoned too."

"You too?" Snotlout blinked, but the surprise quickly wore off.

"Uh-huh." Fishlegs nodded. "The chief told me to wait for you and the others for the mission briefing."

"The others?" Snotlout asked curiously, wondering if they were waiting for their friends.

"He told me that Astrid, Ruffnut and Tuffnut would be going with us as well." Fishlegs replied, then hummed. "Oh yeah, Hiccup too, if he's up for it."

"Wait, what?" Snotlout unintentionally slammed his fists into the table in anger, then looked sheepish at his own outburst. "I thought he'd be excluded from the chief's summons?"

Fishlegs raised an eyebrow at this and seeing that Snotlout looked uneasy, decided not to say anything and stared back at him in silence in hopes of getting a reason for his sudden outburst. These days Snotlout seemed to be angrier than usual and Fishlegs himself often saw him giving jealous and angry looks at Hiccup whenever the lanky Haddock teen wasn't looking, and longing looks at the beautiful Astrid Hofferson when he also thought she wasn't looking. Normally, Fishlegs wouldn't care about Snotlout and whatever he did or did not do, but lately this was getting way too suspicious for his own tastes. And besides, Astrid and Hiccup were a couple now.

"I just got angry for his own health." Snotlout defended lamely, hoping that it was enough to stop Fishlegs from staring; It was awkward. "You know, with him having one real leg and all..."

Fishlegs seemed to buy it.

"Well, it's the chief's choice." The blond shrugged, cupping his chin as speculative thoughts flooded his head. "I can't do anything about it, but unless he changes his mind, he'll be with us."

Snotlout couldn't stop giving himself a quiet growl at this, but this went fortunately unnoticed by Fishlegs and his anger subsided marginally. He rolled his eyes and mentally sighed in annoyance. Why was he so unlucky?

His hopes were raised when he heard Astrid was coming with them on the mission, but when Fishlegs mentioned Hiccup, his hopes were dashed albeit only by a little bit. Now he was hoping that his cousin couldn't go on the mission with them, and then he would have plenty of chances of wooing Astrid back into liking him while away from home, but in reality he didn't realize that Astrid didn't like him in the first place - as her rejections had only spurred him on to like her even more. Snotlout wouldn't believe that Astrid didn't want to go out with him if someone said that to him, even if the said person was the chief of the Hooligans, being the stubborn Viking he is. And as some people secretly said behind his back, he'll never know when to stop annoying Astrid and move on with his life.

Silence reigned for a while, with Snotlout now absentmindedly drumming the hilt of his axe and with Fishlegs still thinking to himself. Eventually the blond shook his head, and broke the ice by changing the subject.

"Hey Snot', if you want to look for the chief, I've seen him pace near his chair a couple of minutes ago; he still might be doing that if you find him right about now." Fishlegs said as he pulled his book out from his pocket and began to read from where he stopped. "You could convince him from making Hiccup go with us, you know."

Snotlout nodded appreciatively to the now-reading Fishlegs and craned his neck around to see whether if Stoick was still in the Hall or not. He was, but the chief was now staring silently and thoughtfully at the fire from the brazier in front of his throne-chair he sat on. The fire in the brazier was dying and from where Snotlout sat, the flickering lights gave Stoick's face an eerie and creepy glow. The manner in which Stoick looked at the fire indicated that he was brooding deeply. Suddenly afraid to disturb the chief, Snotlout turned to Fishlegs for help, but saw that the blond was once more engrossed with his book. And speaking of the book, it was their new Dragon Manual.

Annoyed again but letting it slide, Snotlout was about to stand and bravely approach his chief when the great doors burst open, sending the cold breeze and the snow flakes of winter flying inside. Alarmed, he faced the door.

Against the backdrop of a white winter fog, the gray silhouettes of one teenage boy and girl rushed in to the Hall madly, and with all their combined strength and eagerness to be warm shut the doors as fast as they had opened it, in the same way Snotlout and his father had done. A few seconds later, a twin pair of shivering sounds echoed into the seemingly quiet Hall. Sluggish footsteps headed towards the table where Fishlegs and Snotlout sat, and as their owners approached the Jorgenson teen recognized the shivering fur-coated duo as two of his other friends.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston, the inseparable bickering blond twins of the opposite gender who favored spears as their weapons, who also happened 'fight' each other most of the time. There were still walking together as usual, but this time they were both quiet. Tuffnut, who brushed off snow that settled on his shoulders and boots as he walked, looked contemplative. Ruffnut seemed to be in a sulky mood, and made no visible effort in removing any snow that settled on her. Such silence and tension was rare coming from the Thorston twins, but today seemed to be an odd day. So the Hooligans at the table decided not to bother asking them why they were being like that.

"Hey Fish. Hey Snot." The twins both greeted them unenthusiastically, and didn't bother to wrestle as they both sat down on Snotlout's bench beside each other at the same time.

Fishlegs mumbled something in acknowledgement as he read, while Snotlout nodded to Tuffnut, who nodded back.

"Let me guess... The two of you were summoned by the chief too?" Ruffnut sullenly asked them after shortly making herself comfortable, sluggishly putting her elbow on the table and burying half her face into her gloved palm.

"Yep." Snotlout replied, ignoring her behavior. "He's right over there, but he told us to wait for Astrid and Hiccup to arrive."

"Ah." The twins both said at the same time, again not even bothering to wrestle.

The lack of violence coming from the twins was unsettling, even for Snotlout, and a concerned Fishlegs was about to ask them if something was wrong when the great doors burst open again, this time bringing in a colder breeze of winter flying inside. The group of friends as one turned to face the door, wondering who could it be.

Again, against the backdrop of a white winter fog, the gray silhouette of a teenage girl calmly walked in the Hall, and like Ruffnut and Tuffnut shut the doors as fast as she could. At first she was unfamiliar to the Hooligans at the table because of the momentary blinding light from the outside, but as she turned and approached them, they noticed that her hair looked familiar, albeit the fact that it was mostly covered with a fur hood. As she approached, they began to take on more and more of her appearance. With a shocked start, all of them suddenly realized who the mysterious Hooligan was.

Astrid Hofferson. Maybe the fiercest female Viking ever to live. Striking, tough, and beautiful, her determined and strong personality meant that she was a dangerous force to be reckoned with, even before the Hairy Hooligans befriended their arch-enemies, the dragons, and even after the defeat of the Red Death. For her skills with an axe did not become dull like the tip of an old sword, but were as sharp like the razor-sharp spikes of her male and equally similar Deadly Nanner, appropriately known and feared as Razorback by the other Hooligan riders and dragons respectively. It was small wonder that she and her dragon were partners - they had a lot in common.

The dull and muffled sounds her feet made echoed throughout the hall, even drawing the attention of the brooding chief who only glanced at her for a brief moment. It took a moment for the seated Hooligans to adjust to the different clothed Astrid. This time, she was wearing a gray fur-coat similar to Ruffnut and Tuffnut's fur-coats but unlike theirs, her sleeves were longer. Instead of her usual attire of a spiked skirt and a gray shirt with skull-emblazoned shoulder pads, she wore a pale-gray shirt with skull-less shoulder pads and a longer, thicker and studded skirt. Her change of clothes seemed to not have bothered her at all. But the Hooligans were bothered enough. Even Snotlout had to will himself from not staring at her for too long.

"Hey guys." Astrid greeted them casually as she sat down next to Fishlegs, taking off her hood.

"Hey Astrid." All of them replied at the same time after a few seconds, still perplexed at her new appearance.

"So... You guys are here for the mission too?" She asked while brushing off some snow that settled on one of her shoulder pads.

"Yeah, now we're just waiting for Hiccup." Fishlegs said, slightly shifting in his seat to make more space for Astrid.

Astrid hummed to herself as she non-verbally thanked Fishlegs. She looked like she had something on her mind.

"Shouldn't Hiccup stay at home?" She asked them concernedly moments later, although there was a tone of worry in her voice. "I mean... it's winter and all. And his leg..."

"He should, for his own sake." Snotlout blurted out accidentally, but this wasn't paid any serious attention except for Fishlegs who gave him a brief look.

"Still, the chief asked him to go with us on the mission." Ruffnut pointed out to everyone. "But honestly though, I agree with Snotlout. He should stay at home."

"Me too. It's been weeks since he fought the Red Death with Toothless, and he's already up and walking." Tuffnut stated, then frowned. "He needs more time to for his body to adjust. He needs to take it easy."

"While I don't want to pick any sides, Tuffnut has a point, Astrid." Fishlegs added, and then switched his attention back to his book again.

Astrid tried to give her opinion, but was stopped before she could even start when she felt a presence behind her back. The Hooligans all looked up in surprise at the sudden feeling of somebody behind her and in the process found out that it belonged to a certain bearded brunette Hooligan. How he managed to sneak up on them unannounced is a mystery, for a heavy man like him was bound to make a sound no matter how much effort he put into sneaking up to someone. The young Vikings all jumped up in surprise when they finally recognized him as Stoick, their chief.

"WOAH!" They all exclaimed at the same time.

"Oh! I'm sorry everyone, I didn't mean to startle all of you." Stoick quickly apologized, albeit sheepishly.

"Man, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" Snotlout almost yelled as clutched his chest, but when he realized he was being weak, he toughened up.

"But of course, I was prepared for that." He said smugly in an attempt to impress everyone, but they just rolled their eyes and turned their attention back to Stoick.

"Sorry." Stoick apologized to Snotlout, then moved on. "I'll brief all of you for the mission now. I know Hiccup is late and probably can't come, but can one of you can tell him everything later?"

"Sure." Ruffnut shrugged.

Stoick nodded at this and started the mission briefing, rubbing his hands together and surveying them.

"Right. Earlier this morning, one of our supplier parties reported that they weren't able to resupply one of our outposts. Said outpost is only a few islands away from here, and if you're wondering why they were unable to resupply the place, the water around the area froze up. Plus, the winds were too strong for their boat to handle; their mast almost snapped into two. They also tried walking to there on the ice too, but that didn't work out too well for them. Hel, even their supplier dragon nearly lost his wings when they tried flying there as well. They almost lost half of their crew and by the time they reported to me, they were nearly stiff all over. With what I'm saying, one of you should've guessed the type of mission you are going on by now - It's a resupply mission."

The Hooligans shared looks at each other.

Stoick took a rolled sheet of parchment from his pocket and unrolled it on the cleared table, revealing a map of the islands around Berk and the areas of land and water that belonged to the Hairy Hooligan Tribe. Everyone edged closer to the table, taking a look at the masterfully detailed and very accurate map. On some parts of the map were dots and crosses which indicated settlements and historic or holy landmarks, skull and crossbones which meant that certain place was deadly, labels which held the names of the places they explored or owned, and finally the new-found distant islands in which a few of their bravest or craziest Hooligans had explored and settled in.

The chief pointed his big finger to an island called Dragonhorn twice the size of Berk and near its northern-east area. The island was aptly named after the twin bent rocks that towered out of the sea near the only sandy shore of the island, as well as the fact that the Hooligans living there occasionally found dragon horns buried in the ground. Stoick then pointed towards the island's walled settlement which was positioned between a massive cliff and a lush green valley. On closer inspection, the majority of the settlement's buildings were _actually built inside_ _the cliff (a precaution against wild dragon attacks_), and the buildings outside were mainly hunter lodges and lumber-mills as well as small fishing docks. The outpost looked able to support half of Berk's population if it was turned into a full-blown village.

They had to squint their eyes to see the bridges that connected the walled settlement to the valley and river where their kin hunted down animals to feed upon. The nearby forest was massive - Fishlegs shrewdly guessed that it was unwise to go in such a place alone - and nearer to the only safe shoreline which doubled as a natural harbour further south on a hill was a stone lighthouse made with extensive care and skill, able to withstand the strongest Gronkle slam and the hottest dragon fire. It was called Sailor's Saviour by the Hooligans, for more than once the lighthouse's great fire stopped many a Viking ship, allied or not, from crashing into the rocky outcroppings of the island at night.

Other than the stone tower and the outpost near the cliff, the island also had underground cave systems which were connected to one another. Used exclusively by the Hooligans who lived there as shortcuts, they were the last bastion of defense and/or survival should an enemy Viking tribe or an untamed dragon horde attacked and destroyed their village. The cave systems were also connected to hidden areas in the forest and elsewhere on the island by the clever use of covered manholes or secret doors. Whenever their enemies attacked, the Hooligans there who couldn't fight knew where to go. And those who could would use those tunnels to gain an advantage against their invading adversaries.

"Dragonhorn is where you will all be going to tomorrow. That means that all of you have the rest of the day to prepare and bring whatever equipment you think you need for this mission. Your form of transportation will preferably be a boat. Remember, the winds are too strong and too cold for your dragon partners to handle, so you can't bring them along. Besides, they're probably in hibernation right now. Very poor visibility caused by the winter fog will be a major factor concerning this mission's success. But by following the water's currents and your own sense of direction, you should be able to get there in a couple of hours' time, tops. Oh yes, before I forget, all of you will have to carry each a fraction of the supplies needed by the Dragonhorn Hooligans."

"Now, any questions?" Stoick asked after informing everyone of the mission details.

Fishlegs and Astrid both raised their hands. Ruffnut followed theirs after several seconds. "Yes, Fishlegs?"

"Is Hiccup going with us too?" The chubby blond teen asked concernedly and curiously.

Stoick paused, and thought about it for as long as he needed - when in truth he already decided long ago. The more he 'thought' about it, the more Astrid and Snotlout looked hopeful and eager but neither noticed the other's face, as they were focused on hearing their chief's reply. Ruffnut did not look like she cared nor was she focused, but looked like as if she would rather stay where she was and not go on the mission. Tuffnut acted differently than his loved twin sister Ruffnut, having a serious no-nonsense face and an air of determination around him as if he was facing a massive horde of enemy dragons - all on his own - for the sake of everyone else in Berk at the cost of his own life.

"Yes. He is." Stoick said after finally 'deciding'.

Astrid sighed a breath of relief, Fishlegs nodded enthusiastically, Snotlout looked really annoyed, and the twins were indifferent. Internally, Stoick frowned at them. He really hoped they were up to the task of saving their people on Dragonhorn. Shaking his doubts away, he turned to Astrid for her question.

"What about you, Astrid?" He asked.

"Never mind, chief. Fishlegs beat me to it." She said happily.

"Okay then. You, Ruffnut?"

"Can I sit this mission out?" Ruffnut asked quietly.

"Why?" Stoick found himself asking her, surprised all of a sudden. Normally Ruffnut would jump at the call.

"My parents are sick. When I mean sick, I mean really, really sick, chief. I want to stay home and take care of them." She answered sadly, her eyes not meeting Stoick's.

"I see. Are they sick because of the winter cold?" Stoick inquired, his mind already formulating a plan to get the healer.

"No, they're sick because of the turnips they ate days ago. We didn't know they were rotten." Tuffnut replied for Ruffnut.

Stoick mentally sighed. He definitely needed to send the healer to them, or else their condition could get worse.

"But I'm afraid you can't stay behind on a crucial mission like this, lass." He apologized to her. "However, I'll have the healer take care of your parents while you're gone, so don't worry none."

Ruffnut was silent for a moment, then she slowly and reluctantly nodded in approval.

"And that concludes the briefing. Now everyone, go get your gear all set and ready to go by tomorrow. Our kin on Dragonhorn are counting on us." Stoick finished, taking his map and rolling it up.

A hand shot up in the air instantly after the briefing was finished, and Stoick looked to see that Snotlout had raised his hand. "What is it, Snotlout?"

"With all due respect, sir, how did you manage do that?" Snotlout asked curiously.

Taken aback by the odd question, Stoick blinked. "Do what?"

Nervously, Snotlout started to fidget with the hilt of his axe as he explained his question. "Uhm, you know, the whole sneaking-up-on-us-without-being-noticed thing?"

Stoick looked surprised and possibly, amazed at himself when he thought about it.

"To be honest Snotlout, I don't even know myself." Then Stoick turned to everyone else. "Alright everyone, get going!"

And with that, everyone at the table stood up and then went off together to prepare for a busy and very cold tomorrow, talking about Dragonhorn in particular as they shut the doors behind them, the wild winter weather battering them once again. However, Snotlout slowed down and let the others go ahead of him first. Nobody noticed him slowing down, and by the time they did they were far too gone to care. Snotlout sneaked back into the Mead Hall and looked around for the Hooligan chief who disappeared. Unaware that he was being watched from the nearby shadows, he made his way towards the Hall's meeting room hoping to encounter Stoick and have a word with him concerning his intelligent son.

But before he could even reach the door, he heard someone approach him. He turned around to see that he was facing his father who was looking at him grimly, yet pale as a ghost. There was something about the look on his father's face that told Snotlout was something was horribly, horribly wrong. In fact, the paleness of his skin was a sign of it; Spitelout Jorgenson was known for not letting anything rattle him. And to see him like this meant trouble was soon to come...

Spitelout gestured to a nearby candle-lit table.

"Son, _we need to talk."_

Snotlout gulped. That was all what his father needed to say to make him realize he was in very big trouble.

About what kind of trouble though, he'd find out the hard way.


	3. Preparations II

_Disclaimer:_

_I do not own anyone or anything associated with HTTYD.  
>I'm just writing this down for my personal entertainment as well as for others.<em>

* * *

><p>Elsewhere in the still-snowing village in a certain bedroom-turned-workshop, a young teenage Viking was busy copying a book over a long table littered with pieces of drawn-upon parchments, old books and worn tools. On the left side of the table were piles of books filled with illuminated manuscripts about Viking weapons, armor, fighting styles, and history. On the other side lay a unique-looking, nearly crescent-shaped bow near the teen's left hand - made with the strongest and lightest wood available - alongside a large leather quiver nearly full of matching iron-tipped arrows and a left-hand studded leather glove.<p>

The table was not the only place in the bedroom that was littered with various items. Scattered across the floor were scraps of fur and spools of thread alongside wooden buttons and leather straps. On a chair nearest to the bed were neat stacks of recently sewn-together fur clothing, including thick socks, tight gloves, and furry scarves. One would not need a guess to know that they were meant for winter. In one corner of the room stood a barrel filled with dull weaponry intended for sharpening, and beside it stood an empty barrel meant for weapons sharpened to perfection. Near their bases were the whetstones that would be used for the extensive and lengthy sharpening.

Nailed to the room's walls were pieces of drawn-upon parchments, which on them were sketches of different kinds of dragons - new and old ones - masterfully and accurately detailed. Amongst the sketches was a map of the same kind that Stoick showed earlier to the other Hooligans in the Mead Hall. But oddly enough, this particular map only kept the labels of the places they knew, but it replaced the other map legends with dragon egg clusters and sketches of flying dragons. They were scattered across the lands and waters of all Vikings and foreigners alike, including the exotic lands of the deep south where little-to-no Vikings ever dared to set foot upon.

Hung on a hook behind the room's door was a leather belt filled with at least twenty flat, sharp-edged throwing knives forged from scrap iron, spare wood and tanned leather which poked out of their respective sheathes. On the same hook hung another leather belt, but unlike the former they held sheathed, proper Viking-style steel daggers. There was only two of them, but the quality and sharpness of the small and deadly weapons ensured that they would serve their owner well. The sconced torch on the wall nearest to the seated Viking teenager suddenly flickered, momentarily dimming the room. The sheathed weapons' tips glinted in the quick aftermath.

The strong winds still howled outside, occasionally shaking the walls of the house and rattling everything that were hung anywhere inside it. But the writing Viking didn't seem to mind the racket; instead he focused on the tiring task at hand. He wrote with his left hand and not his right, and he thought first before he acted - something that still left his friends shaking their heads in wonder. Periodically he stopped writing and stretched his lanky body, his green eyes closed and round face at ease. Years of harsh Viking life seemed to have not affected the teenager; he was not as muscular or strong as the other Vikings were, but what he lacked in brawn he made up for brains.

The sconced torch once again flickered, but this time it actually put the room into darkness as it finally had enough of burning. The Viking teenager gave a quiet sigh of exasperation, and while muttering he grabbed something underneath the table - a spring-loaded metal prosthetic leg. Attaching it to the stump on the remains of what used to be called his left leg, he stood up and limped his way towards a small drawer near his bed where he kept a stack of torches inside one of its roomier compartments. Grabbing a spare torch then lighting it with flintstones and replacing it with the one on the sconce, he soon returned to his chair at the table with the room lit brilliantly once more.

He looked pained as he sat on his chair again, teeth gritted. Because of what happened to his left leg the stump bled heavily sometimes, rendering him not being able to do much other than copy down books whose texts were nearly unreadable most of the time. His brown hair, which grew longer over the past few weeks, covered his eyes as he waited for another moment or two for the throbbing pain to go away. When it did not, he reached for an unlabeled dark red flask at the edge of the table. Uncorking it, he quickly drank the thick, slimy liquid inside. Although he almost gagged from the horrible taste a few seconds later, he forced himself to drink more for his own good.

The pain lingered a few more agonizing minutes. Then it was gone.

"Oh, thank the Gods..." The Viking sighed in relief as his body sagged, his suddenly hoarse voice barely a whisper. "Note to self: Ask the healer for more health drinks."

Hiccup 'Horrendous' Haddock III promptly went back to work.

Several minutes later, he was finally done. All the materials on the table were now neatly arranged; scrolls were stacked on one another, books new or old were piled according to their subjects, empty health drink flasks were properly disposed of for re-use, and frequently used inkwells were covered by cork lids again. Leaving his important belongings on his table, he made his way towards his bed whilst mindful of the materials he left on the floor. Yawning and stretching as he did so, the brunette fell on it, not even bothering to remove his prosthetic leg or his clothes. Staring at the wooden ceiling of his room, Hiccup instantly lost himself in a trail of thoughts that beckoned him.

Life in Berk changed fast. _Too fast_, in his opinion. Several weeks ago, he was called 'Hiccup the Useless', because he was weak, misunderstood, and clumsy with any kind of weapon except for a dagger. Naturally, everyone did not want to be with him or do anything with him. His previous status as a failure taught him the values of being kind to others when they couldn't be towards him; he was compassionate, understanding, and knowledgeable about how people acted and thought. But with those values came negative ones. He had a hidden but controlled resentment towards his kin. It started little when he was a child, but it grew as he grew older, wiser, and angrier.

Nowadays, he was now 'Hiccup the Useful'. But that title didn't change his cold opinion on his own people, nor did the battle against the Red Death. Sure, they had a right to treat him like nothing. But that didn't mean they had to go that far to treat him like that. Deep down inside, Hiccup thought that someday, something will make him snap – regardless of the consequences. He felt it in his bones - he knew it would happen. He just hoped it wouldn't be too soon. But then again, it was inevitable. Like what the strings of Fate and Destiny had in store for him, Hiccup was bound to end up in another predicament that would threaten the lives of everyone around him - and he would suffer the most for it.

As such, Hiccup took to flying around on Toothless as a means of temporary escape from this harsh reality - not just because he was responsible for the loss of his dragon partner's tail fin, and not just because Toothless wanted to fly with him. Of course, the brunette could never forget what he had done to him – after befriending a wounded, previously thought-of as dangerous Toothless, who knew that dragons weren't as different to humans like him? Who knew that these once-hostile dragons also had friends, families, feelings and even _children_?

And to think, that some of the dragons the Hooligan Vikings used to slay were no more older than he was, in spite of the lifespan difference between the two races...

The thought sent chills down his spine.

Hiccup glanced at the belts of weapons that hung from behind his door, their tips once again glistening in the light from the new torch. He frowned, knowing fully well that the excellent quality daggers and recycled knives he forged would eventually be used to take a person's life away... or a dragon's, if the need was great. Guilt, something that Hiccup was already well-accustomed to, reared its head again to face the teen's troubled conscience. Were he but a cold-blooded killer, he would have no qualms about going on a dragon slaying spree to quench his thirst for blood, and the thought was bothersome enough for him to actually think _'What if...'_ scenarios concerning him killing dragons.

A bloodthirsty dragonslayer was what Hiccup would eventually become if he hadn't spared the only thing that would make him be accepted by his own people - Toothless. After forming such a bond with the Night Fury, he couldn't bring himself to think of doing anything remotely close to harming the black dragon now that recent events had transpired, and since he had brought peace to Berk, their Viking way of life had changed for the better, and they didn't need to go out on raiding and killing for supplies as much as they used to before. They considered killing a bit overrated now.

_Not that it doesn't matter anymore_, Hiccup thought. He's done what he can to unite the dragons and the Vikings together in Berk. But still, there were other Vikings tribes out there that aren't on good terms with dragons, and still killed them for the sake of it or otherwise. Hiccup could potentially change that fact – but will he do more good than evil if he did? Or will everything turn out worse in the long run? Then came the deeper part of his thinking – those tribes would need more food and space for their new-found partners if they willingly accepted them, and in turn this would lead to more bloody conflicts between the tribes in a bid to make themselves powerful and self-sufficient with dragons as their partners, or as their _weapons_. Warring between the tribes would escalate to the point of no return.

And perhaps the worst part yet to come, is that the other tribes who want to be left alone will slowly but surely be drawn into those conflicts, whether they liked it or not. And it would be possible all because of Hiccup if he ever acted on his thoughts of changing the other Viking tribes' lifestyles. Dragon Peace was either the key to peaceful co-existence between dragons and Vikings, or the key to the bloodiest wars they have never experienced before.

"_Vikings as a whole are violent, proud people when it comes to fighting but otherwise very peaceful," _Hiccup mused, trying to shy away from the horrible trail of thoughts heading his way, "_and dragons are fierce, noble creatures that want nothing more than freed-"_

A distinct, almost heavy wing beat in the howling wind took Hiccup out of his mind-exhausting deep thinking. Just hearing the sound made Hiccup alert and – for the lack of a better word – shocked. What kind of sane dragon would fly outside in such a cold and dangerous weather today? Dragons were warm-blooded! Well, most of them are. Hiccup quickly calculated and crossed out all other types of dragons except the Monstrous Nightmares that never seemed to be affected by the cold. As stubborn as they were, a Nightmare probably became bored at staying in one of the nearby caves and took to the breezy sky whilst on fire, but something about that angle of thought was definitely off.

Hiccup just had to narrow down the number of possibilities of _why_ it felt off. All other thoughts vanished immediately.

_One_, many Monstrous Nightmares were given the 'enjoyable' task of igniting themselves near the dragon caves' entrances. Meaning they weren't supposed to abandon and forfeit their fellow dragons' lives just for the sake of their personal entertainment, and therefore they had a strict responsibility in keeping the other dragons warm and safe, even if they were hibernating. Monstrous Nightmares were popular with the other dragons because of that fact.

_Two_, despite their fearsome appearance and their reputation as one of the toughest dragon types, the Monstrous Nightmares preferred to keep the safety of other dragons in check than to leave them alone to fend for themselves. Which made sense for Hiccup, as their aggression was matched only by their almost hidden concern for their winged kin. No wonder they made themselves key targets to take down back then whenever the dragons raided for food.

_Three_, Monstrous Nightmares were fearless and proud. If they encountered a threat, they would quickly attack the danger and would rather die fighting than surrender. But they were also cautious, more so in a weather like this - so they would go in pairs or more to continue hunting it down if the circumstances permitted it. A lone Nightmare chasing a hostile away was a rare sight to see.

Like in Hiccup's case, where he was chased by one _before_ he united the arch enemies together.

Then again, that Nightmare probably didn't think he was a threat. He was practically a walking fishbone to them.

_Four_, Hiccup thought that this Monstrous Nightmare must be too proud to pass up fighting a hostile in this weather. Perhaps, it thought that, by taking this hostile down in the appalling conditions it was in, it might earn the respect of not just the entire dragon community, but the whole Viking community as well. That angle of thought reminded him of himself back when he was still 'Hiccup the Useless', always seeking acceptance but never getting it until later.

Maybe that was the case, but still...

And_ Five_, Hiccup's strained ears could only pick up _one_ pair of beating wings. Not three, not two, but just _one_. So that struck off the idea of the dragon being a Monstrous Nightmare, thus making his previous possibilities wrong. But to be fair, Hiccup had never encountered or seen a dragon strong enough to withstand both the strong winds and the extreme cold of Viking winters. All the dragons both he and Fishlegs catalogued didn't even have the capabilities to withstand both - their winters were just that horrible, and it didn't help that dragons were warm-blooded creatures.

Perhaps the dragon outside was a new type of dragon waiting to be seen and discovered?

No wonder Hiccup found himself standing in front of the bolted windows of his room, itching to open them. For most people in the village, opening your windows in the middle of a strong windy winter day was considered near-suicide. His excitement and craving to know more about this mysterious, resilient dragon conveniently made him forget that fact. As he listened, he thought: '_What does it look like? What are its abilities? How can it fly in a weather like this? What does it want?'._ And of course, the most important question of them all: '_Why is it here in Berk_?'

This time the dragon gave a low, shrill cry. It was distinct, like it's wing beat, and the cry oddly echoed in the wind.

This made Hiccup even more determined and excited to see it. There were so many questions popping in his head and there was so little time to answer all of them. Hiccup didn't care for his well-being right now, but he made a point of weighing and re-nailing everything inside his room with very heavy objects to prevent them from flying off into the snowstorm. Of course, he would share everything he would see with Fishlegs. What was the point of updating the Dragon Manual for the village if information wasn't freely shared between the intelligent duo?

Once he was done doing what he could, he took a deep breath and braced himself as he opened his windows.

_All Hel promptly broke loose._

The snow flew into the room in layers. The torch was put off by the wind, plunging the room into darkness. Nearly all of Hiccup's materials were about to be blown away. But Hiccup held on to his window sill, and despite the cold and the strong winds, he barely caught a glimpse of the mysterious dragon. And then there was nothing left to behold, leaving the unlucky Hiccup cold and disappointed. He didn't get a good look at it, but now he had more than enough evidence to support his claim that there was another unknown type of dragon that needed to be catalogued with Fishlegs.

With his attention back to his nearly snow-filled room, Hiccup closed and bolted his windows, shivering all the while.

"That was almost a waste of effort." Hiccup grumbled under his breath as he fumbled in the darkness for a new torch. "Now I better clean up."

The room basked in the light of the new torch. Again.

It took time, but somehow Hiccup gradually cleaned everything up using whatever he could to remove all the snow. Now he was tired, in pain, and in no mood to think about anything for the moment. His mind was plagued with the mystery dragon's figure flying away from his sight in the raging snow outside, however, but as he clambered on to his oddly dry bed, the rest of his thoughts went astray. Hiccup closed his eyes and sighed as he removed his fake leg, propped it on the floor casually beside his bed and then flopped over to his side without much of a second thought.

The furs on his bed brought him warmth and eased his muscles, causing him to yawn tiredly. His eyes began to blink and he started to nod. As his senses dimmed, he remembered to pull the covers over him and adjusted a bit to get snug in his bed. At last, he finally closed his eyes and breathed gently.

Barely registering the previous events that unfolded in his room, Hiccup did not resist the soothing embrace of sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note:<em>

_This is probably not one of my good chapters. Oh well, it's either my loss or yours, reader._

_Anyways, thank you for taking your time reading this fanfic chapter. Suddenly, flames are appreciated and so are reviews. Feel free to drop in your opinion of the chapter and tell me how it should've turn out. You guys were probably expecting Ruffnut to pop in the Haddock residence in this chapter, so, sorry if I didn't include her in this time._

_Maybe she will be included in the next chapter. Yeah, maybe, if I decide to continue typing this story. And to be honest, I don't like where this story is heading. In my head, it's all going downhill. So, until next time then, readers, flamers, and reviewers..._


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